


The power of names

by JupiterGoddess



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:02:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24978103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JupiterGoddess/pseuds/JupiterGoddess
Summary: Names are powerful indeed. And Murtagh learns that lesson in the hardest of ways.
Kudos: 7





	The power of names

Murtagh sat in his dark, damp and cold cell, leaning against the stone wall. Lying in his lap, wrapped in what was left of his cloak, was Thorn.  
The little red dragon was every bit as beat as Murtagh himself. He had probably never felt as miserable as this. Not even after his father Morzan had thrown a sword after him in a drunken fit, and all but sliced open his back. Murtagh was hurting all over his body, which had been subjected to some hefty torture. His skin bore the almost fresh signs of his treatment.  
But that was only one half of it. Murtagh felt so incredibly drained, unable to muster the energy to move much. Only his hand stroked the top of Thorn's head in small movements. Ocasionally, he shuddered. For Galbatorix's specialty was not physical torture. It was mental torture.  
Even now, Murtagh felt that terrible presence in his mind, tearing through his thoughts and memories with burning claws. He had grown up familiar with magic and the ability to invade another's mind. But never, not even in his darkest dreams, had he imagined that it could hurt so much. He had screamed. He had endured the physical torture almost without sounds. But Galbatorix ripping through is mind had broken him . Not only did it hurt. But it was also the ugliest sensation, having one's every deepest secret lying open before another. Having someone else invading the only place others usually don't reach, a safe haven of privacy and retreat. And the inability to stop the intruder, the utter helplessness, was unbearable.  
Galbatorix had even topped that. He had done the same to poor little Thorn. Now that the two were linked mentally, Murtagh had of course sensed all the dragon did, and viceversa. It had been pure agony for the two of them. And now, both of them had lost all hope. They were never getting out of here.  
Thorn moved and lifted his head.  
'I am so sorry', he said in his surprisingly melodic voice. It sounded still young, but was clearly the voice of a male being. 'If I hadn't hatched, we wouldn't have to suffer through this.'  
'Don't be', Murtagh replied. 'You were still in your egg and didn't know better. You simply reacted to your Rider being close. You couldn't know what was going on. Don't worry. We'll get through this together… somehow.'  
Those words sounded much more optimistic than Murtagh felt. He tried to let as little of his despair into his thoughts as possible. The dragon responded by sending him sensations of affection.  
Thorn… Of course the little guy knew what was coming . They both had learned it when Galbatorix had rummaged in their thoughts. He sought their real names in order to enslave them.  
If it were only Murtagh, he would have fought to the death. With all that he had suffered in this world, he supposed he was better off dead. But he couldn't leave Thorn behind, sweet, innocent little Thorn. He dragon was the only reason Murtagh was still going on, was still trying to find a way to get out of here. Thorn deserved to be free, to live his own life.  
The sound of a key being inserted in the door's lock echoed through the chamber. He lifted his head. Was it already time for a meal? In here, he had lost all sense of time. But when the door opened, it wasn't the usual jailors bringing them food standing outside. Instead, it was a jailor and three guards.  
"Come on, boy", one of the guards said and stepped inside. "His majesty wants to see you."  
Thorn whinced and cuddled closer against Murtagh. The young man felt a wave of resignated despair wash through him.  
'Another session of torture.'  
What cruelties had the king in store for them today? Were Murtagh not subject of it, he might actually admire how crafty Galbatorix was in the art of inflicting pain to oth-ers. As it was, however…  
The other two guards and the jailor entered as well. The latter opened the lock that kept the chains holding Murtagh's wrists fastened to the wall. He gave the chains into the hands of one of the soldiers.  
"Let's go."  
Murtagh didn't move an inch. He kept sitting on the ground, Thorn in is arms. One of the guards angrily janked at the chain.  
"Oi! Stand up! The king doesn't take kindly to tardiness!"  
That, unfortunately, was true. Galbatorix enjoyed playing the waiting game himself. However, Murtagh knew that it was nothing but psychological trickery. If the king was late, it was to wear out whoever was waiting, weaken their will. But if anyone else was late… the mad king had killed people for less.  
Unwillingly, he stood and followed the guard out of the cell. Soon enough he recognised the way as the one leading to the Hall of the Soothsayer. Of course. Galbatorix's favourite place for torture. Every fibre in Murtagh's body rebelled against the mere notion of going there again. His steps slowed. Unfortunately, the two guards pulled him along relentlessly.  
Today, the king was already waiting for them when they arrived. That was odd. Usual-ly, he arrived when Murthag was already bound on the stone table in its center. And somehow, Galbatorix's unusually bright smile filled him with dread. He did not like that at all.  
"Murtagh!", he said in his creepy good mood. "How good to see you! And Thorn, of course."  
He lifted a hand, but Thorn hissed at him and cuddled even closer against Murtagh. For a moment, the young man's heart stopped. It wasn’t like Galbatorix to forgive such an insult. Something was off. Something was terribly off, and Murtagh didn't like it one bit.  
Galbatorix shrugged. "Be that as it may. I have good news for you, my boy. Today will be the day you will finally leave that cell."  
Anyone's first reaction would have been joy. And while hope reared its head, Murtagh stayed suspicious. This was Galbatorix, after all. A master of trickery and mind games. What sounded one way might in fact mean the exact opposite. When the king remained silent, Murtagh decided to bite, even though he knew he was going to regret it.  
"What do you mean by that?"  
He knew his hunch had been right when Galbatorix's smile actually broadened into a grin. And he spoke a long line of words in the old language.  
Murtagh felt as if his soul were torn to pieces and put back together. As if he was looking into a mirror and seeing his true self, without the masks and white lies he told himself to stay sane. His true self, with all its strengths and weaknesses.  
He screamed.  
He recalled all the times Galbatorix had brutally entered his mind and scoured it for every bit of information. It was a good thing Murtagh hadn’t learned any secrets during his time with Eragon and later the Varden. The mad king had found every nook and cranny of information, and Murtagh hadn't been able to do anything against it. Even the earliest memories hadn't been spared. Such was the mental might of the tyrant. And now Murtagh knew what it had been for.  
Galbatorix had found his true name.  
Next to him, Thorn was writhing on the ground and screaming, too. Murtagh felt the little creature's agony in addition to his own. And oh, how he wanted to relief him from it. Why, in what cruel twist of fate had the king found their true names? For it meant only one thing.  
That they now belonged to the king. In both body and soul. Shackled by eternal, unbreakable chains.  
Of course Galbatorix would set them free after learning their true names. Because he now held all-powerful control over them, from which they couldn’t escape. It was a weak consolation, but knowing that, Murtagh hadn't gotten his hope too high in the first place. It was a cruel joy of the king's, raising people's hope only to crush it afterwards. That Murtagh hadn't fallen for it was one small defiance. One tiny victory over the madman.  
Unfortunately, it would be all the resistance Murtagh was going to be able to mount for the indefinite future.  
"Well then." Galbatorix, still in an eerily good mood, switching into the Old Language and turned towards the door. "Be a good boy now and have a long bath. Afterwards, your new room is waiting for you. Get rested. I have great plans for you, and I want to start the soonest possible." After that, he once again said Murtagh's true name. Again, agony flooded through the new dragon rider, but all that escaped his mouth was a moan.  
And to his horror, his body moved on its own. Mechanically, he steered towards the citadel's baths, while Thorn in his arms still whimpered from the new assault on their united consciousness.  
At any other time, Murtagh might have highly enjoyed taking a bath and getting clean after weeks in a damp, dirty cell. But not now. Not with things like this. He soaked in the hot water only for a little while before getting back out and letting a servant lead him to his chambers. There, once the door had closed behind him and he was alone, he let himself fall onto the bed. He didn't even care the tiniest bit about how surprisingly comfortable it was. He barely felt Thorn snuggling against him in an attempt to comfort him. Burying his face in the big pillow, he gave a long, agonized scream.  
He screamed for his lost freedom. He screamed for the opportunities he and Thorn would never get now. He screamed because the helplessness was unbearable. Because there was no hope. Murtagh and Thorn were now the king's puppets, for as long as the madman lived, which, given the circumstances, could be forever. They were his completely, in body and mind, to do his every bidding.  
Because such was the power of names.


End file.
